Between Light and Darkness

9

"Always ready, aren't you?" I chuckled, taking my seat next to him.

Urag grunted softly in response, his eyes still fixed on the scroll he was deciphering. "The College doesn't run itself, Arch-Mage. There's work to be done. You want to keep this place running, don't you?"

His dry tone was laced with a hint of sarcasm, but I knew it was his way of showing respect. He was always pushing me to stay sharp, and for that, I appreciated him more than anyone else in this place.

I unrolled the parchment he'd handed me, scanning over the contents. It was filled with ancient symbols and forgotten dialects, a puzzle in need of solving. "What are we working on this time?" I asked, already intrigued by the challenge ahead.

Urag leaned back slightly, folding his arms as he finally turned to face me. "It's an old text from the southern crypts. They unearthed it during some excavation in Falkreath. Rumor has it, there's a ritual locked inside, one that could change the way we approach summoning."

I raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "Summoning rituals? Sounds like dangerous territory."

Urag shrugged, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Dangerous is half the fun, right?"

I laughed softly, shaking my head as I settled into my seat. The warmth of the lantern cast a soft glow over the worn pages, and I could feel the weight of centuries pressing in around us. Urag and I had spent countless nights like this, poring over ancient knowledge, uncovering secrets that others had long forgotten. It was tiring work, but it was the kind of work I lived for.

"Let's get to it then." I said, grabbing a quill. "If we crack this, we may just be one step ahead of everyone else in Tamriel."

The room fell into a comfortable silence, save for the scratching of quills and the soft flicker of the lantern's flame. It was in these quiet, focused moments that I felt most at home, surrounded by history, and unlocking its secrets with one of the few people I trusted.

Many hours into our studies, as the light outside dimmed and the cold of Skyrim's evening crept in, I broke the silence. The weight of what had happened in Riften had been gnawing at me ever since I left, and if anyone could offer some insight, it was Urag.

"I ran into a problem in Riften," I said, my voice low but deliberate.

Urag didn't look up, though his quill paused mid-stroke. He always listened, even when it seemed like he wasn't paying attention.

"There's a shadow haunting the city—a presence that makes soul gems scream and cry in despair," I continued, my words hanging in the heavy air of the Arcanaeum.

Urag slowly placed his quill down, finally turning to face me, his dark eyes narrowing with concern. "A shadow that affects soul gems? That's no ordinary magic."

I nodded, feeling a chill run down my spine just thinking about it. "I've dealt with enough horrors to know this isn't some conjurer's trick. I've felt it, Urag. It's like... the gems are in agony, like they're being consumed by something far darker than I've encountered before."

For a moment, the room seemed to grow colder, the flickering light of the lantern casting long shadows on the stone walls.

Urag leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. "If the gems are reacting like that, it could be tied to something ancient. Soul gems are powerful—they're connected to the essence of life and death. Whatever's causing this, it's likely playing with those boundaries." His voice was measured, but I could hear the underlying concern.

"Do you think it could be Daedric?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

Urag let out a thoughtful grunt. "Could be. Daedric artifacts are known for affecting souls in strange ways. But this... sounds different. I've never heard of soul gems screaming. We'll need to dig deeper into this."

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "I have to go back to Riften soon. I need to understand what's happening before it consumes everything."

Urag stood up from his chair, walking over to one of the many towering bookshelves lining the Arcanaeum. He pulled out a thick, ancient tome, dusting it off before handing it to me. "Start here. This has records of arcane anomalies dating back centuries. If there's anything similar to what you're describing, it'll be in these pages."

I took the book, feeling its weight, and nodded in thanks.

"And Pluuto," Urag added, his voice dropping to a low, serious tone. "Be careful. If this thing is making soul gems scream, it's not something you can face head-on. You'll need more than magic. You'll need allies, and knowledge of what exactly you're up against."

I met his gaze, knowing the gravity of his warning. "I'll be prepared. But first, I need to figure out what we're dealing with."

I gazed at the cover, marveling at how time had been strangely kind to this book. The leather was worn, but not cracked, as if it had been preserved through some ancient care. My fingers gently stroked the spine, feeling the subtle texture of the material that had withstood the ages.

Unable to resist, I brought the book closer and gave a soft, indulgent sniff. The scent was intoxicating—earthy, rich, like fresh-picked juniper mixed with the faint trace of old parchment. It was the kind of smell that could transport you back centuries, to the very origins of the tome itself. In that moment, the world around me seemed to fade, and all that mattered was the knowledge contained within these ancient pages. I ran my fingers along the edge, about to open the book when Urag's deep voice broke the silence. "Books like that are rare. They carry the weight of history in more ways than one."

I smiled softly, still savoring the scent as I opened the first page. "It's like stepping back in time... I can feel the stories even before I've read them."

Urag grunted in agreement, returning to his own reading. "It's a rare connection, one only those who truly understand the value of knowledge can feel. Treat it well, and it may reveal more than you expect."

With those words lingering in the air, I settled in and began to read, the soft crackle of the old pages under my fingertips filling the quiet space. Each turn of the page felt like peeling back layers of forgotten history, and I couldn't help but wonder what secrets this ancient tome held about the shadow that haunted Riften. As I turned the pages, I was drawn deeper into the world of ancient magic and secrets that lay within the book. The script was delicate, intricate—written in a flowing hand that suggested a long-forgotten scribe had painstakingly recorded these words by candlelight. The ink, though faded, still held a strange vibrancy as if it was imbued with some hidden power, pulsing faintly with the remnants of old magic.